Requiem for a Shattered Soul
by LoupGarouAngel
Summary: Dean told Sam to remember what he taught him,what Dad taught him,to take care of his wheels,to keep fighting.Sam couldn't do it.Written with Adarachan67.CrazyAngsty Sam.
1. LGA:Shattered

**AN: This is co-written with the amazing Adara-chan67,without all her hardwork and amazing talent this story wouldn't be here.Thanks Adara!**

**--**

Sam always thought white was the color of good, the color of hope and justice, was always Dean's and his color. They were far from angels, but they were of the few in this wretched world that went into battle without a second thought, all for the people.

But white wasn't good anymore. White was the bland, colorless, rough fabric wall that stared back at him day in and day out. Just that white wall was all his eyes saw, the reflection settling on dull and emotionless eyes.

The people were the same, plain pale faces going through the motions of life here, in this place of Hell on earth. They stared at him with dead and tired eyes, not caring and never looking into those hazel orbs any further then they had to. Slaves to society and its throw-away mannerisms.

Sam was all alone in this, with only the robots that tied him up and shoved miserable medicine dryly down his throat to keep him company. The mind-impairing pills would be shoved in, and like cockroaches scurrying down a path they went and all he did was sit and take it, helpless against what fate had thrown him.

He didn't remember how he got to this place, all he remembered was holding Dean's corpse, the warm blood still trickling onto his skin from torn flesh and mortal wounds. He remembered crying, hot tears dripping from his skin while his throat tightened and burned as he realized his brother was gone. Was really gone and dead in an eternal hell…all because of him.

Sam stroked the wall with a calloused hand, the motion slow as he admired the leathery texture of the fabric; his eyes stared glassy and unfixed as the drugs clogged his senses and blighted his mind. He hummed Metallica, the lyrics repeated so many times, like a lullaby to an infant—he knew them well, let them wash over his mind and cradle him gently.

He heard the door creak open, steel against steel that what seemed a life time ago would have made his face scrunch in disgust, but now he didn't even acknowledge the uttered noise.

"Sam, you have somebody here to see you. Do you remember Bobby? Bobby Singer?"

The nurses voice was fake, like elevator music with its attempts to be comforting, all while droning on and on in an agitating way. Sam didn't say anything, didn't even move or make an attempt to recognize his old friend. He just stared, dull eyes tracing his finger tip with its short, blunt nail as it trailed softly over the white fabric wall, taking in the rough feeling as fabric rubbed against flesh.

"Hey, Sam…been a while."

Sam didn't know if it had been or not—last time he saw Bobby was when Dean died. When was that? He didn't recall. There was only a time before Dean's death, a wonderful thing full of emotions and life. Then, then there was this life after Dean's death, the new one in which he felt nothing, cared about nothing…and just hoped by doing so he would turn into nothing.

"Ellen sent these, Sam, said she'd send the whiskey as soon as you get outta here."

Sam heard plastic crinkle, the noise stinging his dull ears. He saw hands place a bag of pretzels before him softly. He saw one gnarled and aged hand, black oil set in the deep groves and cracks from hours of working with cars, the other missing three fingers with a long scar running up the arm, pink and puffy like yarn beneath the skin.

Sam stared at this. Bobby always had all his fingers—when did this happen? His brow knitted in confusion, the first sign of emotions in months and he opened his dry mouth to speak to his old friend.

"What happened to your hand, Bobby?"

The sound was rough, coarse and dry from months without use, the noise emitted even startling Sam a bit. It made him want to sink back down to his dark burrow of memories and austerity, the place where he ignored the world around him.

Bobby paused, holding his breath and keeping back tears from the small breakthrough, yet he didn't know how to respond, didn't know how to react to Sam's question.

"Something got the best of me when I shouldn't have let it, but I'm alright…" He waited for Sam to look at him, but that chilling stare didn't flicker for a moment.

Sam listened, heard what Bobby said but when he heard Bobby say he was alright he only nodded once before sinking back into his thoughtless mind.

The moment faded away, and Bobby let one tear slide down his face, crystal liquid vanishing into an untamed beard, before going back toward the door.

"Bye**,** Sammy…" His whisper was soft, Sam barley heard the use of his old nickname as the door screeched shut and he was once again alone in the small cell.

Time passed—Sam never really knew how much, never really cared. It wasn't as if he could feel himself aging here, like he had once upon a time in the real world. Time was in the eye of the beholder; it was the moments he had spent with his brother, had spent at school and all the other moments in his life that had shaped him.

The moments before Dean had been ripped to shreds, flesh, muscles and bones being strewn about the room like confetti. Those precious moments had defined time for Sam, and after that, as he held his older brother's dead, cold and stiffening body in his hands, time had seemed to fall away. He had just seemed to sink away…and never stopped sinking.

He didn't pay attention as the door creaked open—just another droid here to do their duty, their service to the world. Footsteps shuffled toward him, pausing as papers ruffled and a chair was set down.

Not a droid today but an interrogator, the doctors who asked all the wrong questions and did all the wrong things. Sam's toes were cold and tuning blue as they rested upon the cold, hard floor, as the chair screeched he curled them up tensely, holding them tight against himself.

"Hey, Sammy." The voice was loud and booming, deep and velvety smooth, belonging to an African American man—it didn't belong here. It was too full of life, too full of emotion and passion. It made Sam feel, and he didn't like that. It made him want to burrow further into the memories, further away from this place.

He'd never heard this doctor before, he never looked at any of them but surely knew each one's own individual voice.

"I heard you had a visitor today, but he went home disappointed…just like they always do, huh?" There was a ruffle of papers then a cold, metal smack as he dropped the clip board on the ground beside Sam.

He didn't flinch though, he never flinched.

Sam clenched his jaw and concentrated harder on the memory.

_Dean was fourteen, Sam was ten. They were in some cheap motel with Dad gone for the third day in a row on a hunt he said was easy, told Dean he wouldn't need his help on it. It was sweltering hot out, and to make matters worse the air conditioner was broke. Sam kept begging Dean to please just go swimming in the pool with him, please just get out of this cramped space. With an eye roll and a groan Dean finally caved, Sam grinning in joy as his brother and him raced out too the small pool._

_It was night out, one of those July evenings with humid still air and only the occasional soft breeze to relieve your slick, heated skin. The brothers stood beside the pool in their boxers, grins on their faces as they stared down at the crisp cool water, the scent of chlorine rolling lazily to their nostrils as it beckoned them. Frogs sang softly around them in the small Ohio town, crickets chirped peacefully and fire flies danced slowly through the heavy air, indolently taking in the night._

"_On three Sammy, one…two…three!" Dean jumped in with a shout and Sam followed with a grin._

_They hit the water, cool and refreshing against burning, tired skin. Sam came up and sucked in air, for a few moments watched in curiosity as his brother stayed under an incredibly long time. Sam wanting to be like his big brother took a big gulp of air, filling frail lungs with life giving oxygen before plummeting back under. He opened his eyes, the water crystal clear with the blue haze carried from the night lights that littered the floor. Sam stayed put, determined to be just like Dean, no matter how much his lungs burned, begged to release this air and get clean, new oxygen. He slowly released the air, bubbles dancing quickly away from his nostrils into the water around him before surfacing and disappearing. _

_Dean swam up beside him, cheeks filled with air and a one eyebrow raise of questioning on his face. Sam remained unmoving, even as pain tore through his lungs and sent warning alarms off in his head. Dean signaled for him to rise, but Sam didn't move even as darkness began to close in around his vision, the lights becoming blobs of white against hazy blue water. _

_Dean grabbed Sam firmly and yanked his younger sibling to the surface, just as Sam began to loose consciousness. He pulled the small boy to the dry tiles beside the pool, talking to him quickly as he worked and begging his baby brother to stay with him. _

_Sam opened his eyes and Dean's worried face greeted him, droplets of water trickling down his cheeks and blending with the tears that fell from his eyes. _

"_Thought I lost you there__**,**__ little man, how __**'**__bout we go inside? Ok?" Dean spoke quietly, the fear that any louder would cause his voice to crack, tight with emotion and worry._

_Sam only nodded as his small, frail body shook in fear and cold, water clung to his skin and soaked his hair into a mopped mess. Dean carefully wrapped a towel around his quivering form and…_

"I know you're in there, Sam, choosing to ignore the outside world with memories of your brother. You have to face the facts, though, Sam…he's dead." The voice cut through the memory like a knife, tearing Sam's eyes away from the white wall to face the doctor.

His hazel eyes were glazed with drugs, but a fire burned hot and savagely upon them, causing the doctor himself to gasp in surprise.

"Don't talk about my brother," Sam growled, so low and deep it could barely be heard, but the doctor slowly nodded and told him he had been heard.

Sam went to turn back to the wall, but a searing pain that suddenly tore through his mind like a hot blade made scream in agony. Panic gripped his heart as basic human instinct took over, his head was blazing and he had no idea why, he clawed at his eyes and pulled at his hair but nothing would stop the terrible pain. He felt a firm hand on his shoulder, one that momentarily reminded him of Dean and how he would always tend him when in trouble. The thought was brushed away though as a vision of death, horror and terror was slammed into his mind.


	2. AC:Visions

It wasn't the first time he'd seen such a thing, but it was the first time that it had happened in front of one of the doctors. That didn't really matter, though, because the man's presence didn't seem to make any difference. It certainly didn't lessen the pain or the sharpness of the image.

This time it was a little girl. She was pale, her face somehow distorted, wrong. She held a razorblade in one hand, a doll in the other, and somehow the two items together, so drastically different, increased the terror that the image brought. She walked slowly toward him, looking solemn, the doll dragging on the floor behind her. The razor rose to slash and slice, and…

There was the too-familiar prick of a needle in his arm, and Sam was jerked back to the hospital, and the padded room, and the doctors.

The one who had come to torture him today was staring down at him, a look of mixed pity and interest on his face. He looked very much like a scientist who felt bad for the lab rat—but not bad enough to stop experimenting on it.

"Sam, it's okay," he said in a soothing voice—or at least an attempt at one. "Just let the sedative do its job. You'll feel better when you wake up."

Sam wanted to glare at him, wanted to protest that that was a lie, that he _never_ felt better when he woke up—but even if he had been able to find the words, he wouldn't have been able to use them, because there was already blackness swirling around the edges of his vision, pulling him in, pulling him down…

XXX

He had another vision while he slept, and like the last, this one held a faint tinge of familiarity—like something from another lifetime entirely, something that he should remember but didn't and probably never would.

This time it was a mirror, and his face in it, talking to him, yelling at him, telling him exactly how much he was to blame for all the death around him. And then it was the mirror shattering, and falling back, and a woman crawling out of the broken wreckage, swaying and scuttling toward him. She got to her feet, her straggly black hair parting to reveal a pale, distorted face, and…

He woke back to the real world, and the woman faded from his eyes, gone as if she had never been.

The problem was, Sam wasn't sure she ever _had_ been…

The door opened then, and the same doctor from yesterday came in, shuffling papers and still wearing that peculiar expression of mixed pity and interest.

"Hello, Sam, how are you feeling after your nap?"

In reply, Sam went to his corner and curled up with his knees to his chest, his head resting against the wall, his eyes fixed resolutely _away_ from the doctor.

"Not so good, huh? Does your head still hurt?" the doctor asked, sitting down in the chair.

Sam rested his head against the wall and prepared for his usual method of escaping into his memories. This time, the one he chose was of when he was about eight and Dean about twelve, and Dean decided to take the opportunity when John was out for the night to sneak a bunch of horror movies into the house.

"_C'mon, Sammy, we won't get in trouble!" Dean said reassuringly, clapping an arm around his shoulder. "We'll have the tapes out by the time Dad gets home, okay?"_

_Sam grinned up at him and said, "Okay, Dean. Can we make popcorn?"_

"_Sure thing, kiddo. Why don't you set up the first movie and I'll go make us a bag?"_

_So, five minutes later, the brothers were sitting on their bed, watching _Chucky.

_And twenty minutes later, Sam had his eyes hidden firmly behind both his hands. Every once in a while, he would peek out between his fingers, only to hide again at the merest sight of the evil redheaded doll._

_Dean laughed suddenly—probably after looking over and finally noticing Sam's antics._

"_Sammy, you sure you can handle this?"_

_Sam nodded, peeking again, then uttering a little squeak and closing his fingers once more. "I'm fine," he said, his voice muffled._

_But he wasn't fine later that night, when Dean had returned the movies to the video store and come back and turned out the lights and they'd gone to bed. He hadn't been fine when he'd woken in the dark after a nightmare and begun to cry._

_Dean hadn't said anything, though. He'd just put an arm around Sam and held him tight, comforting even as he chuckled about Sam being a girl._

_And, oddly, the teasing had helped even more than the hug. _

"Sam? Sam, focus," the doctor said, interrupting his memory with his frustrated voice. "You need to focus and try to answer my questions if you ever want to get out of here, okay?"

That, though, only puzzled Sam more. Why did the doctor think it mattered to him whether or not he got out of here? There was nothing waiting outside for him, anyways—in here or out there, it was all the same to him.

Some more time passed while the doctor questioned him and Sam dwelled with some measure of peace in his memories. He wasn't sure if the doctor got what he came for—probably not—but after a while the man stood up and said stiffly, "I hope you feel better, Sam," and left.

And as he did, Sam had another vision.

He only had time to think vaguely, _Three times in one day. That's a lot…_

And then he was watching a man, maybe twenty-five or so, running down a dark street. He looked afraid, terrified, his eyes staring over his shoulder. He didn't seem to see what he'd been looking for, but that only made him run faster. He turned down an alley—and fell.

Sam watched as the skin on the man's back was split open by enormous claws. He listened as the man's screams of pain quieted into choked moans, and then faded all together.

Sam watched, unable to intervene, as the man died.

It was only as he came out of the vision that he wondered, vaguely, why this one didn't have that faint familiar tinge to it.

And then a memory came to him in which Dean decided to teach him poker, and Sam forgot about the vision almost entirely.

He couldn't know that a few hours later, the cops would find the body of a young man about twenty-five, barely recognizable under all the blood, in an alley not five miles away.


	3. LGA:Pain of the Past

Rest never came for Sam. Not the true, real sleep he experienced in his life when Dean was alive, the kind that you awoke from feeling refreshed and alive. His thoughts never stopped to allow him to slumber, the memories and scrabbled messages running rampant in his mind like wild beasts that tore relentlessly at his soul.

Even when the drugs forced him into unconsciousness his thoughts remained, the memories feeling more real then the world that now surrounded him. If only he could bury himself completely in that place, then this wretched world would all just disappear…

He heard the drone of a voice, the words like an annoying buzz of a bee in his ear as he tried to slip back to a place where it was just Dean and him. It was harder today though, because thoughts of the vision kept slipping into his memory, pulling him from it until he was forced to think about it again.

Why didn't it feel familiar? What was it? What had killed that poor guy? He tried to shake the thoughts away, but he found it impossible to try block out the annoying voice.

The voice was familiar, so were the curious and questioning thoughts, recognizable like the visions of the girl with the razor and of the mirror and the girl that crawled out.

He refused to listen to the voice that tried beckoning him back to this place in his mind, it was desperate to be alive once again but was tucked deep away, almost unreachable. It was a part of himself he never wanted back, never wished to return to or become once again.

With that thought in mind he clamped his eyes shut and concentrated hard on the memory of Dean and him, ignoring the voice that screamed at him to listen.

The memory started to fade in as he saw Dean's eight year old face, shining and young, full of mischief and curiosity…

_Sam sat watching "The Lion King", tears streaming down his face as he watched Simba's father fall to his death. He let out a tiny sob as Simba tugged gently on his father ear, trying to raise the great lion once again, unknowing that he would never again run upon savannah with his son. _

_Dean came in and found his little brother crying before the television, tears streaking down his chubby cheeks as he meekly sniffled. _

"_Sammy, what's wrong?" Dean asked with true concern as he sat beside his younger sibling and wrapped his arm around the small boy._

"_Simba's daddy is…is dead! I don't ev…ever want our daddy to die!" Sam said, burrowing his face into Dean's side._

"_Oh, Sammy you don't have to worry about that for a very, very long time, okay?" Dean said with a smile as he tried to cheer up his brother._

"_Bu…but Simba's daddy died for him…and now he feels all bad, what if that happened to us?" Sam looked up at his brother, eyes swimming with worry._

"_What if daddy died for us? Sammy, daddies are made to give anything for their kids, it's just how they are, that's why Simba's daddy put himself in danger to save his son. But you can't worry about things like that; besides, you got me to watch out for ya!" Dean grinned, proud of his wise words that seemed to calm Sam's worried face until he let out another whimper of fear._

"_I don't want you to die for me__**,**__ Dean, I don't ever want you to leave me!" Sam shook his head, the tears returning as he thought of his older brother being gone._

"_Oh Sammy, I didn't mean it like that! I'm just saying, as your big brother it's my job to watch over you know matter what happens, and I'd even die for ya kiddo." Dean ruffled his brother's long hair, receiving a small smile from the child._

"_But you're not going to, right?" Sam said with concerned eyes._

"_Not anytime soon, Sammy. Now come on, how bout let__**'**__s…"_

The memory was suddenly interrupted as another vision slammed into his mind, startling Sam and throwing his frail frame to the cold, hard floor.

A man was holding him against the wall, icy, dead hands pressed against his skin as he felt electric shocks shoot through him as the man spoke.

The vision was familiar was again and it gnawed relentlessly at Sam, making him cringe in pain and misery.

One eye was missing, black, rotting flesh mingled with old blood that seeped from the hole. The other was grey and blank; it watched him with a dead and hollowed expression. His skin was stark white, puffy and swollen in some spots where decay swarmed and sunk in others where rot had eaten away precious muscle and bone. His hair was white and sparse, frizzed with bugs crawling through it. They scuttled quickly in and out of holes in the mans head, brain and bone eaten through long ago.

"I want to help you…"

Sam jolted from the vision, a doctor quickly pressing his hands firmly down on his chest. He struggled against the pressure, afraid it may bring back that man, that man that was once again oh so familiar.

"Sam, calm down. I want to help you."

The echoing words sent Sam into even more of a frenzy, opening his eyes he saw the dead man's face before him now, same dead eye staring down at him. He tried desperately to squirm away, the cold from the dead man's hands sinking into his clothes, chilling him to the spine.

For the first time since he had gotten to this place he screamed. The cries of despair echoed through the vacant halls, making whoever heard stop and for a brief moment wonder what could cause such pain.

The shouts died away as the familiar prick of a needle sank into his flesh and he felt unconsciousness pulling him down. He feared it though, and dreaded what vision would torture him next.

His terror was granted as another vision came, this time all familiarity, just like the one about the man being clawed apart.

He saw a woman stepping out of her car, her outfit was pure white scrubs and a identification card hung loosely around her neck. Sighing she began to walk toward a large brick building of apartments when a sound made her stop and look around with the slightest hint of fear in her eyes.

She shook her head, laughing at herself just as something pulled her into the shadows, her screams ripped through the night but were silenced moments later. Blood slowly streamed from the shadows, crawling across the pavements leisurely and shining softly in the yellowed street light above.

Darkness swarmed once again and Sam found he was conscious, but his eyes were too heavy to open. He tried to move but found his limbs bound by the straight jacket, like the one he'd woken up in when he got here.

He didn't struggle though, instead he just laid there and tried to sink away; if he could go under then these visions would let him be. His thoughts came and went, odd ones of M&Ms, some of black eyes and others of a shining black car.

He didn't know how much time had passed, he never did really. He heard the door screech open, he tried to open his eyes and saw through only a small slit, the sight blurred and distorted.

"Did you hear about Carol?" A male's voice spoke as Sam was roughly pulled from the floor.

"Nah, what happened, the girl get herself a bad boyfriend again?" Another male voice said, chuckling at his own humor.

"No, dude, she's dead. Found her body brutally murdered last night." Spoke the other voice, surprise in his tone.

"Oh man, that sucks…she was kinda hot." The other said, his hands prying Sam's jaw open as the other shoved pills roughly in.

"Come on Wimpy Winchester, take your friggin' pills." The same voice that had just spoken complained, annoyed by Sam's gagging and spitting.

Sam swallowed them, that familiar voice wanting desperately to kick the guy's ass, screaming to get up and fight, but Sam refused to do it. What was the purpose? There was none.

Sam was dropped to the floor, already forgotten before they shut the door. He crawled back to his corner, resting his head on its wall as he tried to let the memories come. He stared blankly, eyes unmoving and glazed over as images of his past childhood shuffled randomly through his vacant mind.

The images were interrupted as another vision forced itself into his head, the ever so slightest hint of anger coming to mind as he got annoyed by yet another invasion of his mind.

He saw a small blonde woman, her eyes black as she licked her lips and watched him from a chair of which she was bound to. She laughed as words Sam knew so well were read, until twitches and jutted movement made her stop and give him a desperate look.

The vision ended quickly, the face of the petite girl with short blonde hair and black eyes burning in his mind as he once again found himself staring at the white wall.

He was almost tempted to reach in the back of his mind for that voice, that familiar voice to ask who she was but instead he quickly pushed it away. He sat and tried to recall a memory when a shadow in the other corner caught his attention.

It seemed to waver and linger, almost studying him from where it floated about. He stared at it, the voice wanting to go study it, but he didn't instead he stared and watched it, enjoying the change of scenery from white wall to black shadow.

"You're not supposed to be here, Sam." It spoke softly, a whisper on the wind.

He didn't react, only continued to watch it with glazed eyes as emotions were slightly evoked.

"In time, though, Winchester, you'll see." And with that it disappeared, gone as if it had never been.


	4. AC:Doctor

"Hello, Sam."

Sam didn't acknowledge the overly-friendly voice that spoke to him. It was the same one who had come when he'd seen the girl and the doll in his mind. He sounded friendlier this time, though—he noted that distantly, and then began to flick through his memories of Dean, trying to choose which one to immerse himself in today.

"Still feeling crappy, huh?" the doctor asked, coming and sitting down in the chair.

Sam ignored him, trying to choose between the time when Dean had decided to take him out Trick o' Treating one Halloween when John was out on a hunt, and the time when Dean had decided they should build a tree-house and it had fallen down before they'd even set foot in it.

"But then, who can blame you? After what you've been through…"

Sam finally decided on Halloween, and began to reconstruct the scene in his mind. Dean had chosen a simple ghost costume, but Sam had been unable to choose…

"I think you're entitled to a little bit of nutty time, don't you?"

There was something wrong with the way the doctor was talking. Sam knew that even though he was barely listening at all. The doctors here didn't use words like _nutty._

But the memory he was holding in his mind was just so much more interesting, and he pushed the voices—both the one in his head and the one belonging to the doctor—off to the side so that he could concentrate better on it.

"_Oh, Sammy, c'mon, just choose already!" Dean said impatiently. "Look, I have a little money, you can have anything you want. You can be a clown—"_

_Sam shuddered and pressed closer to his big brother's side, almost feeling Dean's grin as they both remembered Sam's first—and ultimately final—viewing of _It.

"_Okay, never mind. Hey, how about a werewolf? That looks cool."_

_Sam looked at the bag Dean was holding out to him, studying the picture on the package of what the costume looked like on. "Maybe…" he said doubtfully. Dean rolled his eyes and put the package back, taking a minute to look at a Frankenstein costume as he did. Seeing him staring at it, something suddenly occurred to Sam._

"_Hey, Dean, why aren't you buying a costume?"_

_Dean glanced at him. "I'm gonna be a ghost, Sammy, you know that. I can just get a sheet from the motel room for that."_

"_Yeah, but don't you want a real costume?"_

_Dean shrugged, a funny look on his face for a moment before he hid it. "Not really. It's all the same to me. Now stop stalling and pick your costume!"_

_Sam ended up choosing a vampire costume, and it would be years before he realized that Dean had really only had enough money for one costume—and then, only if he went completely bankrupt._

"Hey, kiddo."

There was a hand on his shoulder, and Sam jumped—the doctors never touched him except to medicate him or sedate him or put him in a straight jacket.

"Look, I know you like remembering Dean and it makes you feel better. But it's not good for you. You're not gonna get out of here if you keep on doing it."

_I don't care._

"At least, not if you keep doing it like that. You can keep remembering him in a healthy way, you know."

_I prefer this way, thanks._

"_Hey."_ The doctor actually sounded angry now, and Sam found himself actually having to _work_ to ignore him. "I'm getting just a little tired of you ignoring me here, man. I'm _trying_ to help you—and spending a lot of time on it, too. And I don't think I've been too horrible to you. The least you could do is _look_ at me."

Sam turned to face the corner a little more, resting his head against the wall, and behind him the doctor sighed.

"You know what? _Whatever._ Fine, I'll just leave. But think about what I said—if you can drag yourself out of the psychosis long enough."

And then he got up, and started to walk out. At the door, though, he stopped, and said quietly, "Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. What are we gonna do with you?"

Sam jumped, the question torn from his throat before he could stop it. "What did you just call me?"

For a moment, the doctor paused. Then there was the sound of a door opening, and he said, "I'll see you tomorrow, Sam."

If Sam had been looking, he would have seen the doctor's eyes flash black before he stepped out and closed the door behind him.


	5. LGA:What Do They Mean

Sam paced his room uneasily, alarms ringing wildly in his head after the doctor left. Something wasn't right about him; he couldn't put his finger on it, but a feeling deep in his gut screamed at him to investigate.

He chewed his lip anxiously, eyes flicking nervously as his thoughts raged against each other. A part of him wanted to look deeper, find out what was going on around him. But the other, the side that had been ruling since Dean's death, wanted nothing to do with that. It wanted to burrow deep in the memories and forget all about what had happened.

Sammy, he had called him Sammy. No one called him Sammy, no one but Dean and Bobby. No, that was wrong, others had taunted him with that name but he had buried those memories and forgotten about them long ago.

Sam's brow knit in concentration, _"Who had called me that?"_

"_No! Just go back to you and Dean, don't worry about it…" _The other voice called, trying to push away the new, curious thoughts.

"But I want to know," he said out loud, startling himself with the words.

It was as if Sam had two people living within him—the past Sam wanted to be alive once again, wanted to exist, but had been pushed aside by the new Sam.

"You don't need to know, why know without Dean?" Sam asked out loud, the argument with himself becoming more maddening.

"Because, maybe I can save Dean." The thought terrified the new Sam—nothing like this had ever crossed his mind since he had arrived at the institution.

"Don't say that, we don't speak of Dean since you-know-what happened! We only remember, we just go back and try to stay!" Sam spat, shaking in anger as he fought with himself.

"Maybe we should! What if there is a way to save him? Then we don't have to sit in this horrible place and just remember, then we can actually BE with him!" Sam rubbed his face as the thoughts built in his mind, words spilling out as something awakened.

"No! No! No! We don't speak of it! Why give ourselves false hope? He is gone and there is nothing we can do but remember!" Sam turned left sharply, hunching over and trying to sit in the corner as his new self argued.

"I'm going to try." He turned right, pacing and straightening as the other side quarreled.

"No, you're not!" He twisted left.

"Yes, I am." He circled right.

"You will not!" He screamed, turning left once again.

"I will," he yelled, swinging to the right and planting his feet firmly, face burning red as his heart thundered in his chest.

Breathing hard he ran a nervous hand through his hair, a long, greasy and untamed mess a top his head. He took notice for the first time since he had arrived here, and wondered when the last time he had showered.

Before he could consider any further a vision crashed into his mind, pain slamming into his head as images crammed themselves into his brain. He slid down the wall, face contorted in agony as he grasped at empty air for help, wanting desperately for somebody to hold…for Dean to comfort him.

It was a man with a hook for a hand, his hair scraggly and long with a large brimmed hat covering most of his face. His trench coat billowed around him as he watched Sam, pure hate and evil simmering from his glare. He was grimy, covered in dirt and blood, he raised his hooked hand high and…

Sam snapped from the vision, gasping for breath as the images faded away. He thought about the man, trying desperately to remember where he had seen him. It was familiar, like some of the others, so it must have been part of his past.

"What does it mean?" he mumbled to himself, standing once again to pace the small room.

"Shouldn't try, it doesn't matter now." He sighed, his other self trying once again to intervene.

"Shut up, let me think." He snapped, eye shifting edgily.

He twiddled his fingers quickly, energy bound up for month suddenly burst into his frail frame, making him anxious as he paced back and forth.

"What do they mean? What are they?..." he muttered again, pacing quicker as his frustration grew.

All the visions suddenly flashed before his eyes, the girl with the razor, the dead doctor, the woman from the mirror, the girl with black eyes and blonde hair and the man with the hook. The all watched him, the hate and evil that radiated from them made Sam want to shrink away, disappear into the world.

He gasped for air as they consumed him, the faces flashing but meaning nothing.

"What do they mean?!" He slammed his fist in the padded wall, anger fueling him abruptly as he smashed his fist into the wall over and over again.

He distantly heard the door open, toke notice of the faint shouts but barley felt the hands that pulled him away. All he did was struggle, and kept begging someone, anyone, to tell him what they meant.

"What do they mean?! What do they mean?!" He shouted over the voices, he felt the prick of the needle once again, his shouts dying down into whispers as his vision began to blur.

He saw his own knuckles in front of him, blood slowly seeping from faint wounds caused by the leathery fabric. He looked up and saw red smeared brightly across white as his world faded away and all he could think was, _"Dean would know what they mean…"_

xXx

Sam awoke bound by the straight jacket once again, his arms numb from being in the horrible position for so long. He opened his eyes and saw a different doctor in front of him, patiently waiting for him to awaken from the artificial sleep.

"Sam, I see you're awake. I'd like to talk to you if that's alright?" He set down his clip board and rested his elbows on his knees, making himself closer to Sam.

Sam only watched with tired eyes, his mind still reeling on what had happened, and trying to comprehend what was now happening.

"Sam, you had your first outbreak we have seen in a long time. Can you tell me what caused that?" The doctor looked at him with questioning eyes, but Sam didn't respond.

Sam looked to the door, now curious what was on the other side. He had never really thought about something on the other side, but the doctors had to have come from somewhere. What was out there?

The doctor followed Sam's longing look at the door, scribbling the change on his note pad as he watched for any other differences.

"Would you like to go outside? Is that why you were angry, Sam?"

Sam shifted uneasily—he wanted to go outside, but that's not what he had been angry about.

"Sam, I'll make you a deal. You tell me what you were angry about, and I'll let you go outside. Sound fair?" The doctor watched him, noting Sam's reaction as he shifted and seemed to actually be considering what the doctor was offering.

Sam thought quickly, his mind once again arguing with itself, but the past Sam coming through stronger this time to try.

"I didn't know what they meant." He whispered softly, his manner so childlike it almost broke the doctor's heart.

"What are 'they' Sam?" he asked calmly, the slightest hint of excitement filling his eyes as his patient responded.

"The pic…pictures in my head. I didn't know what they meant." Sam shifted uneasily, fear sending his heart pounding as he wondered at what he had just done. He became more concerned, biting his lip at he wondered what was going to happen now.

"That's good for today Sam. Do you think you will be okay now if we take the jacket off?" the doctor asked, two orderlies coming in behind him, at the ready to take action.

Sam slowly nodded, eyes briefly catching the doctors before glancing back down at the floor. He felt buckles loosen and hands pull off the constricting device, the feeling now slowly returning to his limbs.

"Good job today, Sam. Now we are going to take you out in the hall. If you get scared, or want to go back at any time you tell us, okay? We don't want to have to sedate you again, alright?" The doctor rose to his feet, the orderlies shifting nervously behind him at the thought of Sam leaving the room.

Sam nodded and slowly stood, his feet cold and bare held shakily beneath him. He followed the doctor, eyes flicking in every direction as the door slowly screeched open. The orderlies stood by his side, his arms automatically wrapping themselves around himself to try and shrink away from them.

The doctor stepped out into the hall, Sam eyeing the open door before stepping out. The floor was shining blue tile and the walls bright white with pictures neatly hung. He observed them carefully as he stepped out into the seemingly whole new world.

The hall was long, seeming to stretch in both directions forever. Windows lined one side, bright sunlight streaming in over the tile and few chairs. Doors ran all the way down, each the exact same as his except for the golden numbers that hung from each.

Sam took another step, the slick floor so different from the leathery fabric he had become so used to. He inched closer to a near by window, the orderlies tensing at his action as he slowly sat in a wooden chair beside it.

His eyes grew wider as he observed what lay beyond the walls; a large pond was just outside the window, willow trees scattered around it until opening up to a large field. The sun was high in the sky, its bright lights dancing upon the crystal clear water and a soft breeze made the willow branches sway gently.

Sam was mesmerized by the sight—he had forgotten about the outside world and what it consisted of. The sight took, his breath away, made his thoughts calm as he began to let the memories flow back into him.

Him and Dean had been hunting that girl with a razor, she was an angry spirit.

Sam almost jumped as the thought came to him, his eyes so fixed on the trees he didn't even realize what he had just considered. He looked around suddenly, as if another person had told him this. Had it been someone else?

He saw the doctor from yesterday, but now he saw his face was different, his face was terrifying. Black eyes hid behind burned flesh, tears and wounds seeped crimson blood against smoldered and rotting skin. Turfs of hair were missing, teeth were black against yellowed gums as it smiled at him.

"Hey Sammy, feelin' better today, huh?" The doctor grinned, more blood flowing from shattered teeth as he did so.

Sam tried to scoot away, suddenly missing the comfort of his corner. He almost panicked, almost tried to run, but he remembered the threat of sedation, recalled the straight jacket and simply turned to the other doctor.

"I'd like to go back now, please," he whispered, eyes refusing to meet the disgusting being's black eyes.

"Okay, Sam, let's take you back to your room." He put a gentle hand on Sam's shoulder, guiding him the few feet to his room and shutting the door behind him.

Sam went to his corner, sat down and brought his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms tight around himself. He rocked back and forth quickly, fear making his heart race rapidly in his chest.

Words spoken long ago came to soothe him, Dean's child voice speaking gently to him until the words reached his own lips.

"Don't be afraid Sammy. Don't be afraid Sammy. Don't be afraid Sammy…"


	6. AC:Wide of the Mark

The same doctor came back the next day, and today he looked normal again. And he still sounded different from the other doctors—more clipped, more frustrated, more prone to snapping and not seeming to care that Sam spent most of his time trying to become one with the padded wall.

Today, Sam was remembering when Dean taught him to drive. He'd been _worse_ than a backseat driver, often grabbing the wheel right out of Sam's hand, convinced that he could drive better even from the passenger's seat. The memory of Dean's annoyance with him that day was somehow even more delightful than the others, and Sam felt more determined than ever to escape into it.

"Sam," the doctor greeted him. "How's it going today?" His voice was light, and somehow…mocking…but Sam couldn't find it in him to feel affronted. Instead, he focused on the image of Dean sitting next to him, shouting _damn it, you're going to hit that mailbox, go left, left, left! _

"That good, huh?"

Sam turned a little more toward the wall and didn't answer.

"Well. Aren't you the chatty one today?" the doctor said. "I swear, if you weren't a complete nut job, I might be offended. I'm not promising anything—offended would be quite a stretch—but you never know."

Something about the taunts was so _familiar_, even more so than some of the visions—so familiar that Sam actually, willingly, though it was the hardest thing he'd ever done, abandoned his memory to try and figure it out.

"Sam, what is with you? Why won't you just _listen? _I'm not even asking you to make a grand speech—just to say _something! _What is so hard about that? I _know_ you're not an idiot, Sam. I've seen that. Just pay _attention._"

He almost had it figured out. A name had almost entered his fuzzy mind when yet another vision hit, and he didn't even bother being annoyed with it this time—just started right in on praying for it to end quickly.

_It was the scariest thing in the world. It was horrible, and terrifying, and against all laws of God and man. It was brightly colored, and painted, and covered in polka dots, and grinning._

_The clown leered, waved a hand, and disappeared. It was deadly, and evil, and scary, and just not there anymore._

_It hadn't done anything, but it was somehow the worst thing he could ever remember seeing in his life. He couldn't escape—it was going to kill him—no one could save him—he was alone…_

"Sam. _Sam."_

There was a hand on his shoulder, and that was enough to shock Sam out of his vision. _No one_ touched him anymore, unless it was to prick him with needles, strap him into a straightjacket, or shove pills down his throat. And yet, here his doctor was, doing it purely to help him shake off a vision.

Not that he could know it was a vision, of course.

"Sam, it's okay. I don't wanna have to stab you with another needle, so just calm down. Oh, for the love of…_Sam!"_

A sharp slap rocked his head back, and Sam came abruptly to—and found himself throwing a slow, awkward punch that nevertheless caught the doctor on the chin. The man fell back against the wall, and for a moment there was silence, while Sam stared at his own hand in true and abject shock and the doctor stared at _him_, his face blank and devoid of all expression.

Then, slowly, he smiled. "See? I knew you had it in you."

And then he stood and walked out, and the only thing Sam was sure of now was that whoever this man was, he was _not_ a doctor.

XXX

Sam spent the rest of that day thinking, for the first time in months_. _Not just remembering, or wondering, or looking, but _thinking._ It didn't hurt like he'd expected. It didn't hurt to use his brain, to pick situations apart, to play the geek again.

Of course, he often strayed into his memories, and when he did that, sometimes it would take hours for him to emerge again. And more than once, he had a vision—there was one of a woman with shoulder-length brownish hair with her stomach being sliced by a grotesque, scarred man. One of another woman with longer, black hair and wide eyes, holding a gun out to him with tears in his eyes, and then one of a strange-looking man with a gray face covered in strange blue designs. They all felt strangely familiar again, and Sam felt more irritated by them than ever.

Finally, as he was lying in his bed, skirting the edge of sleep, the voice in his head spoke to him for the first time all day, and told him the answer.

"_A demon. It's a demon in human disguise. A possession."_

He and Dean used to do things when they found a possession…they used to do something to make the demons go away. He could almost remember—maybe if he wasn't so tired.

Maybe tomorrow…

XXX

He wanted to leave his room again.

No, actually, he didn't just want to leave his _room._ He wanted to leave the _hospital._

Really, he did. He wanted to go _outside_, and feel the wind in his hair and the sun on his face. He wanted to _leave._

Sam was actually very surprised by the realization that came with morning light, and the voice in his head immediately proclaimed itself dead set against it.

"We can't leave. It's safe here. _We're_ safe here. We don't have to think as long as we're here," it argued.

"We _have_ to. We can't stay here forever."

"Why not?"

"Because Dean would be mad if he knew!"

"But he _won't_ know, because he's not _here."_

"Shut up! I'm going to try! Just leave me alone!"

It was the most vehement, the most _angry_, thing he could remember saying in a very long time, and the voice retreated into silence.

Sam didn't quite know how he was going to get out, or when, but he knew he wanted to.

It was a good enough start, at least.

XXX

_Dean was trying to kill him._

_It was…not to be thought of, and yet here Sam was, forced to think it._

_He was forced to think it because Dean was standing over him, grinning, and holding a knife._

_He was forced to think of it because Dean was punching him, beating him, hurting him._

_He was forced to think it because Dean was placing iron hands around his throat and choking him._

_He didn't understand. He _couldn't_ understand. Dean was dead, Dean was in hell, Dean would never, ever try to hurt him—none of it could possibly happen, but it was._

_Dean was trying to kill him, and Sam was forced to watch it happening._

XXX

The next day, when the same not-doctor came in, Sam didn't even bother to notice. He simply leaned tiredly against the wall and enjoyed the gray haze covering his mind, keeping him from thinking or remembering the sight of Dean strangling him.

No more thoughts of leaving had crossed his mind since he'd had the vision late the night before. In fact, no thoughts had crossed his mind at all—not thoughts, nor memories, nor reactions. Nothing. He was just a blank slate, a burned-out house, all his stuff gone from inside. Empty.

It was kind of nice, actually, and he couldn't remember why he'd been so determined to _think_ the day before.

"Hey, Sam," the doctor said, starting off in his usual way. "I hear you actually ate all your dinner last night. Not exactly winning a McKnight, but it's a step up."

Sam didn't even glance at him. He couldn't turn any more toward the wall, either, so he just didn't move at all.

"Sam?" the doctor said. "Hey, pay attention. I'm trying to make conversation here. _Sam._" Sam didn't answer. "Sam, if you don't talk to me I'm gonna have to hit you again."

At Sam's continued silence, the doctor sighed and leaned forward to smack him across the top of the head again. Sam felt the impact followed by the sting, but it was a distant pain and didn't matter.

"Sam, come _on._ You did so well yesterday, and now you're all _Cuckoo's Nest_ on me again. What the hell is wrong with you?"

Sam still didn't answer, but he'd been listening—listening closely, actually, because the sound of the doctor's voice helped keep him from accidentally thinking. He was still listening when the doctor crouched next to him and whispered close to his ear, like a secret.

"Fine. I'll go. We'll just see how you do without that little fallen angel on your shoulder."

The comfortable haze disappeared quickly, as if someone had doused him in icy water, and Sam jerked a little and turned swiftly to look at the doctor.

And then he saw it again—the black eyes, the crimson blood, the burned flesh...

"_You are one ugly broad…"_

"Ruby," Sam said, his voice hoarser than ever in his shock. "You're Ruby."

The doctor stared at him for a moment, then calmly said, "I'll see you later, Sam."

And then he got up and left.


	7. LGA:Pray for Mercy

Sam clenched his jaw nervously as he sat in the corner, debating whether to think or drift off into memories. The two voices were arguing within' him again, the voice that wanted to think had become stronger once the memory of Ruby's name had entered his mind.

"We need to figure this out, we can't stay here, and we need to get out."

"No, we don't! You keep saying we do, but what's the point?"

"Dean would have wanted us to carry on."

"Dean tried to kill us."

"Maybe it wasn't Dean…"

"And if it was?"

Sam swallowed hard, trying desperately to push the memory of Dean attempting to murder him away. With that he let the haze return, forgetting all about Ruby and the argument.

xXx

He drifted again. Sometimes he would drift in and out of reality, almost like waking dreams. He didn't really know what was going on, because he wasn't really thinking, just watching with glazed, unfocused eyes.

He didn't know how much time had passed, nurses and doctors had come and gone often, but he hadn't seen the one doctor in a while.

He didn't really care, because nothing mattered anymore. Not being here, not his life and not even the memories of Dean and him. All he wanted to do was fade away, like a shadow at twilight, swallowed by darkness as the sun set and the moon rose.

Sam was staring blankly at the wall when a vision came, the pain much more severe then any other. Pressure built at his temples like his brain was being crushed, fire burned his mind and the searing pain of images slamming into his head made him fall to the floor in agony. This was a different vision, this was many visions in one and Sam could feel the blood beginning to slowly stream from his eyes and nose. That's when Sam started to scream.

_A woman with long blonde hair slamming a blade through a man's chin, turning and giving him an all-knowing smile. A disgusting creature with a gaping hole for a mouth and small pricked teeth, grey flesh like that of the dead covered it palely. A brunette with a made up face pointed a gun at him, she fired a searing pain bit at his shoulder. A priest with black eyes looks at him, but Sam fires and makes the corpse flash briefly with lightening before blood spills and the life is lost. A little girl with black hair and a red dress looks at him with sad eyes. Another woman with a cocky grin, sleek dark hair and a little black dress watches him with red eyes before he shoots her. There's that brunette again, spitting up water as two grey men stand before her arguing. One with stringy long hair and cold eyes growls, the other with a short beard and sad eyes begs for forgiveness. _

"_They were brothers…" _Sam thinks quickly, but the visions keep slamming him, and he can't think anymore.

_A man with dark skin and sharp fangs chokes him with crazed, bloodshot eyes. Sam can feel his life slipping away before he sees the man's head loll off. Two people, an older couple grin at him with fake smiles, pure evil hidden behind those festive sweaters as a blade glints in the holiday candle light. A woman lies dead on a glass table, her wrists cut vertically, objects of the occult lying all around her. He's in Bobby's house, only it looks different and it's raining upside down, he walks outside but the light is much to bright. He faces a young man he knows is evil, he sees the man's father with a baseball bat and knows it's over for him. _

Then something happened to Sam that shook him to the core, made his screams stop as sobs began to rock his body. Because the memory he had pushed away so successfully, had shoved aside and never thought about, crashed into his mind…

_Dean being shot. Dean being hit by a car. Dean being crushed by a desk. Dean choking. The terrible thud of Dean falling in the shower. Dean asking if the tacos tasted funny. Dean being electrocuted. Dean getting axed by his own hands. Dean being mauled by a dog. _

_Heat of the Moment by Asia played over all the memories, killing Sam on the inside because he had heard it so many times the morning his brother died._

_Then he saw Dean getting shot, and Sam holding him, the pain in his heart screaming desperately because this time it's different, because this time Dean's gone. _

_Sam sees a man with hair slicked back and beady eyes, a lopsided grin on his face as he talks to Sam. Sam begs to bring his brother back, to just please bring him back. The man finally gives and with a snap of his fingers, it's Wednesday again. _

Sam slowly came from the vision, opening his eyelids that were heavy and sore. He could feel blood slowly dripping off him, drops of crimson liquid falling steadily from his face onto the pure white leather.

He lay there for a while, his mind throbbing with pain and body exhausted from the brutal beating. His breathing was slow, a wheeze coming from his nostrils that were caked with blood.

He faintly heard the door screech open, and the muffled shouts and cries of distress as people scurried around him. He felt the familiar prick of a needle, and this time he thanked God for it...

xXx

Sam awoke in a different room. He was in a bed, strapped down with thick, leather bounds that felt to tight around his wrists and ankles. His feet and hands were beginning to purple and numb, a clammy coldness tingeing them.

He swallowed dryly, his throat raw and bitter. Opening his eyes he only saw bright lights that stung his painful eyes, he blinked slowly trying to adjust to the new room.

"Wakey, wakey Sam. You gave us quiet a scare. Not trying to get out of this wonderful world, now are ya?"

It was the doctor, the voice was crystal clear and almost held concern with the usual sarcasm. Sam looked over, the movement sending pain through his stiff and tired muscles, he saw the doctor sitting beside him.

Ruby.

"What happened to you, Sam? You used to be something, hell, used to be someone! Now you're just this void, I know you're in there…Sam if you don't start to come out of this, I think the visions may kill you."

Sam's eyes widened slightly as it mentioned the visions, shocked he would know about them.

"Yes Sam, I know about them. And apparently they're back with a vengeance, probably because you're ignoring them."

Sam tried to shift away, but the restraints prevented him from moving.

"Sam, you can't keep doing that! You can't keep running from the problem, because it's obviously not going to help! It's going to kill you Sam, unless you get your head back on straight and your ass in gear!" The doctor yelled with frustration, standing to leave.

"Never mind Sam, rot away here, if you're not going to help yourself, I sure as hell am not." He grabbed the door handle, the latch clicked loudly as he began to open it.

"It wasn't Dean." Sam whispered hoarsely, the doctor turning to face him as he spoke.

"What'd you say?" He clicked the door shut.

"It couldn't have been, Dean would never try to kill me…would he?" For the first time since he could remember being in this place he made true eye contact with someone, the doctors eyes narrowed in confusion and curiosity, Sam's lost and glossed over.

"Sam, whatever you think you might of saw, I'm sure Dean would never have tried to kill you." The doctor said, inching closer to Sam, hoping to get more from him.

"Maybe…maybe it was because I let him die all those times. He always died on a Tuesday…always Tuesday. He came back though, he came back…does that mean Dean's alive? No…no, I know he's not. Then if not those times then how…" Sam's voice faded, afraid of evoking the memory of Dean's true death.

"Sam, what is it? What are you talking about?" The doctor asked with frustration.

"It was my fault. I should have saved him…like he saved me." Sam said, tears beginning to shine on his eyes even through his voice refused to change.

"Sam, go to sleep. I'll be back later, after you've had some time to…collect yourself. Maybe then we can talk about…business." With that the doctor rose, giving Sam a look of pity before opening the door and leaving.

"All my fault…"

xXx

Sam went in and out of drug induced sleep. Groggy and confused when he awoke sometimes, he would only slip away again and hope things were clearer the next time so he could think. He needed to think; he needed to figure out these things.

More dreams came, he knew they were visions but they didn't hurt anymore, not compared to the _other_ vision.

_A police station and in it a black cloud swirling angrily. Nerdy looking kids with cameras and flashlights, fear in their eyes as a spirit died before them. A thing with long sharp fangs and a distorted face sucking a mist from a poor man, eating his very soul. A doctor with a stitched face, grey flesh and fogged eyes. _

Sam's eyes snap open with a gasp, and for once he's wide awake and the world is crystal clear. He's back in his old room, restraints gone and blood cleaned from the floor. It makes him wonder if he really ever left.

He stands, feet shaky from lack of use but they gain strength as he begins the pace. He rolls over all that has happened, completely ignoring the voice that begs him to not think, just remember, it grows weaker as the visions grow stronger.

Sam knows the visions are building up to something. They've become so frequent, so strong and so much clearer that he knows something is coming.

A cold sweat made him shiver; he shook nervously and bit his lip in concern as he pieced the visions together.

He closed his eyes and did something he used to do everyday, something he hasn't done since he held his brothers still warm corpse in his arms. Sam closed his eyes…prayed for mercy.


	8. AC:Revelations

**Just wanted to say thank you from both Adarachan and I for all the awesome reviews you all have been leaving, it's greatly appreciated and we're thrilled to hear you've been enjoying the story!**

--

The visions slowed down for a while after the weird flood, and Sam didn't have a single one in the next four days. The lack of pain and of death somehow made everything seem just a very little bit easier, and even though the world still felt gray and dark and like it was _missing_ something, Sam felt a little less like he wanted to die.

He did everything mechanically, but at least he _did_ it. He ate, he slept, he dreamed, he even said a word or two every once in a while. It all _hurt_—doing normal things _hurt_ in a way he hadn't expected—but he did it anyway, even if he didn't know why.

Ruby came to see him every day. She was still possessing the doctor, and while he still _thought _of her as a girl, even while she was in a man's body, it was kind of confusing and sometimes he found himself wishing she would be the blonde girl again. It was probably wrong, wishing that some innocent girl could be possessed so that Ruby would be familiar to him again, but then again, right and wrong seemed more like vague concepts than anything else these days.

So, anyway, Dr. Ruby came to see him every day. (He'd christened her with that nickname before too long had passed, and he never dropped it even though she vehemently opposed it.) And every single day, they argued. Well, she argued, and he half-listened and half-tuned out. Not just about serious things like his inability to deal or his visions—though God knew she had enough to say about that—but also about why he refused to eat his chicken that one time when it looked more like a gray pudding-like blob and how on earth it could possibly matter whether he slept on the bed or on the floor. (Lately he'd been falling asleep where he sat, and he found that for some reason he dreamed less when he slept sitting up. He felt this was significant; she felt he was an idiot.)

But no matter that they couldn't seem to get through one half-hour visit without her blowing up at him—she returned every single day, sometimes multiple times, until Sam actually found himself waiting for her instead of thinking or remembering.

Well, sometimes, anyway.

XXX

"Why do you keep coming back?"

Sam found that he was actually somewhat interested in the answer, and this mildly surprised him. He hadn't been interested in anything in…well, a while, anyway.

"What do you mean?" Ruby asked lightly, tossing the plastic spork Sam had gotten with his lunch absently from hand to hand. She'd noticed it just that day and delighted in it. ("Sporks…greatest invention after French fries. How on earth did I live _without_ this stuff?")

Sam shrugged and kept his eyes locked on the spinning spork—the whirling motion was strangely riveting. "I dunno."

Ruby's hand and the spork stilled suddenly, and Sam looked up to find her staring at him. "Sam, are you…making conversation?"

"…I dunno."

"You _are!_" Ruby said, suddenly sounding teasing. "You're making conversation with me! I've officially dragged you out of your shell—well, your mouth, at least. Am I awesome or what?"

Sam's face felt a little strange, and he suddenly realized it was because his lips had quirked into a small smile. It felt…nice.

"And to _prove_ how unfailingly wonderful I am, I'll even answer your question," Ruby continued, sounding more like herself than ever. "I keep coming back because…because…" She floundered, and then said, after a long pause, "Actually, I have no idea why I keep coming back. We argue every single day and you're completely incapable of recognizing the fact that I'm always, without exception, right. You're the single most irritating person I've met in at least a century. Why _do_ I keep coming back here?"

"…I dunno."

"Okay, it's time to add a new word, Sam."

"Why?"

"See? Wasn't that fun? Why what?"

"Ruby."

"_What?"_

"You're yelling again."

"I know that," Ruby said defensively. "You think I don't know when I'm yelling? I do."

"Why are you mad?"

"I'M NOT MAD!"

Sam cocked his head to the side a little as Ruby's voice reached sufficient volume to blow the windows out of the room—if it had windows. "Okay."

Ruby glared at him, seeming to find some great offense in his "okay," and stood up to head straight for the door. She froze suddenly with her hand on the knob and turned. "Hey, you know what? I do believe that's the most you've talked since you got here." She didn't wait for him to think up a reply, but simply said, "See you tomorrow, Sam."

And then she left again, and Sam was left to contemplate the fact that Ruby, no matter what her current incarnation, was apparently a very strange person.

Or…demon.

Thing.

Whatever.

XXX

Sam's next vision hit just as he was dragging himself into his bed that night, and the moment it began, he found himself wishing for his own demise all over again.

_A gargantuan space—the biggest space he'd ever seen—extended in front of him, all around him. Chains, long and black, and lightning everywhere. Emptiness and loneliness and endless desolation._

_And Dean._

_Dean, strung up like a scarecrow, head hanging low, jerking slightly every time the lightning sped its way down the chains binding him and shocked through his body. He didn't yell or scream or make any sound at all—he seemed too tired for that._

_And Sam couldn't reach him, couldn't touch him, couldn't _get_ him. He could only watch, and feel the anguish._

_The despair._

_The regret._

Dean…DEAN!

_Dean twitched, only this time Sam hadn't seen any lightning pass down the chains. As he watched, Dean twitched again, and then, slowly, as if there was a great weight hanging around his neck, he lifted his head. His eyes appeared, blank and exhausted, and suddenly he was staring._

_Straight at Sam._

The vision vanished from his mind as quickly as it had come, and Sam was sitting straight up, his spine as rigid as if someone had stuck a metal rod in it. He'd forgotten about Ruby and her weirdness, about being afraid, about the hospital being safe—forgotten everything except Dean, and Dean in hell, and Dean being tortured.

God, Dean was being _tortured_ in _hell_.

And suddenly, Sam just needed to get _out._

XXX

When Ruby came to visit before the doctors started their rounds the next morning, she found an empty room waiting for her.


	9. LGA:Escape

Instinct had quickly taken over Sam, old habits resurfacing without him having to even think about them. He had desperately cut through the mattress with a plastic knife, amazed when he actually got through he pulled out one of the thin coils, twisting it so he could use it to pick the lock.

He didn't know how much time passed as he sat there, ear to the cold, metal door until he heard the magnificent click of it unlocking. He scampered onto bare feet, a shaky hand reaching out toward the knob the shined dully in the night light. He knew they'd be coming soon, so he had to get out quickly.

He swallowed hard and opened the door, expecting men in white suites to grab him and prick him with needles, bound him with rough fabrics and send him yet again into the world of darkness.

The hall was silent. The only sound he registered was the constant tick of the clock at the end of the hall. Not a soul moved through the desolate landscape. No alarms screamed in rage. All was still.

Sam breathed unsteadily, panic and adrenaline making his heart beat quickly and his blood rush loudly in his head. He took a cautious, silent step into the hall, bare feet not making a sound. He clung to the metal coil for dear life, praying that if there was a God he could just help him this one time.

When nothing happened, Sam gathered his courage and began a quick walk down the dark hall, only the pale moonlight that filtered in through each window guiding his shaky steps.

He came to another steel door that didn't bare a room number, he stood for a moment observing it and wondering if it was locked as well. He kneeled down and once again let that instinct take over, unsure of where it came from or how it knew what to do, but he just went with it. If it could help him save his brother, aid him in getting Dean out of Hell then so be it.

The door once again clicked open, Sam rose and opened it swiftly, stepping in he found himself in a large lobby. The front wall was all glass, showing the serene countryside that sat before the hospital for tranquility and relaxation to those who needed it. Blue moonlight spilled onto shining white tiles, shadows danced around the room as a breeze blew outside and leaves skipped about there branches.

Sam took a shaky breath as he stepped forward on the balls of his feet, that instinct once again guiding him toward the door and picking the lock with perfection. He heard that wonderful click once again, standing he turned around and took one final look at the place that had been his home for God only knew how long.

He wasn't going to miss it.

He pulled open the glass door and stepped out onto the concrete sidewalk, rough, cool rock biting at his bare skin. He breathed in deep, the long forgotten scent of a sweet summers evening filling his senses. Crickets chirped loudly as the tree frogs sang and a breeze rustled the maple leaves above.

Then Sam ran. He forgot what it was like to run, to feel the wind on his face, the ground beneath him; he had forgotten the pure exhilaration of life. He pumped his legs faster, bare feet eating up the concrete sidewalk until he hit asphalt parking lot, then blowing past that until he was running down an empty highway.

His lungs burned, his feet were raw and bleeding, pain tore at his whole body but Sam still ran. The images of Dean were pushing him further and faster, his body only obeying the instinct that guided him.

No real thoughts ran through his mind now, only an animal like instinct that lead his actions and made sure he got as far from that place as possible.

Two balls of light appeared before Sam, and at first he thought he was having another vision, but then the sound of a rumbling engine met his ears and he dully thought a car was coming. He dodged suddenly to the ditch beside him and crouched down as the car roared by, the loud sound making him hold his ears and cringe in pain.

He sat there for a moment, cool water running over his bloodied feet, sweat dripping down from his nose as he caught his breath. Mosquitoes began to buzz annoyingly around him, a small itch indicating they had found a meal made Sam grunt with annoyance. He jumped from the ditch, picking up a jog once again as he traveled down the road, not sure where he was going or what his plan was.

He ran as the night swirled on around him, the darkness seeming to push him further until he saw the slightest pinks and purples from the eastern sky. A silhouette of a large sign was off in the distance before him, curiosity perking he picked up a faster pace until he reached it. He stopped, his breathing hard as he squinted his eyes against sting sweat and read the sign.

"_Welcome to Montville! Moonlight Motel two mile ahead!" _

Sam cocked his head at the familiarity that tinged his mind, Dean and he had always looked for place like these, he could even remember that from his childhood.

He vaguely thought he would need things that a town could provide, but his mind was too much in overdrive to actually think of what. He picked up a jog again, the sun now rising before him as a large burning orb that already began to heat the landscape.

He found the houses becoming more common, the wilderness dwindling until he found himself coming to a main street lined with small stores and sidewalks. He stopped beside the first building and ducked down the ally that lined it, frightened suddenly of his surroundings. He hadn't spoken to anyone but Ruby for a long time now, and he knew people didn't take men in hospital attire and bare feet lightly.

His eyes flicked nervously in the glowing light as his mind raced as to what to do. Thoughts were beginning to break through the instinct and constant line of saving his brother, he realized in order to do that he now had to figure something out.

He tried to organize his thoughts. His feet hurt, they had things that could fix that though, he'd have to get some. His clothes weren't normal, he would have to get some of them as well. He was sweaty, hungry and tired. He would have to find somewhere to shower, eat and sleep.

Sam remembered you needed money, or at least fake money to get all those. Bt he didn't have any or know how to get any. He slid down the wall as distress pulling him into the shadows as he wished now he were back in his corner, at least safe and sound.

Exhaustion made his eyes grow heavy and his thoughts fade away as fatigue forced him into sleep. He knew he shouldn't sleep here, in this dark, grimy alley where people could find him. But he didn't know what else to do; all he knew was he had to find Dean, no matter what it took.


	10. AC:The Fear in Me

Sam woke to voices and a feeling of panic twisting in his stomach.

The panic was familiar—the voices were not. They didn't belong to Dean or Bobby or doctors in white coats—they were the voices of strangers, pure and simple.

And they were close.

What were people doing in his alley?

Sam shrank closer to the wall behind the trash bins he'd been hiding behind, wrapping his arms around his head and swallowing back the sounds his voice was trying to make. The voices grew closer—a boy talking, and a girl answering him.

"Why do you like taking shortcuts through creepy alleys so much?" the boy asked.

"Because I am on the crack," the girl replied, a trace of laughter in her voice.

"Really? And here I was thinking that you'd just become entirely too fascinated with horror movies."

"Well, that, too. Hey, at least it's light out this time—no reason for you to start freaking out and trying to run away from rats this time."

"Hey, that rat's eyes were _red._ That's not natural!"

The girl laughed again. She sounded like she was very close, and in his attempt to scramble closer to the wall, Sam's foot hit one of the bins with a loud _crash._

The sounds of footsteps stopped cold, and then the girl said, "Was that--?"

"Behind the trash cans, yeah. So should we run screaming or do what every horror movie in the entire world discourages, and check it out?"

"Well, it _is_ broad daylight, and every horror movie in the entire world also takes place at night, so I say check it out," the girl said, her voice already moving toward him.

Sam shrank back again. _No, no, no…go away, go away…_

The girl didn't heed him, and a second later a pale face framed by red hair peeked around the trash cans. Her hazel eyes went wide and she stared at Sam, who stared right back, his heart threatening to pound straight out of his chest.

"Brad, c'mere."

"What is it?" the boy—Brad—asked, and then another face appeared, and if Sam could have melted _into_ the wall, he could have. As it was, his back hurt from how hard it was pressing into the bricks behind him.

"Oh…uh…hi," Brad said uncertainly. "Who…?"

The girl elbowed him before he could finish whatever he was about to ask and then turned to him, her face gone from surprised to kind. "Hi, there," she said, her voice friendly. "You back here for any particular reason, or do you just really like these trash cans?"

Sam stared up at her and trembled, unable to do anything else.

"Okay…let's try it directly," the girl said, glancing up at her friend. "I'm Amy. This is my brother Brad."

Sam looked at the boy named Brad with new eyes. _Brother…?_

You have a name?" Brad asked.

Sam had been leaning forward a little, but now he flattened himself against the wall again, shaking his head.

"You _don't_ have a name?"

Amy elbowed Brad again and he winced. "Shut up," she said firmly and then turned back to Sam. "That's okay, you don't have to tell us. Have you been here all night?"

Sam nodded slowly.

"Are you gonna come out anytime soon?"

Sam shrank back and shook his head violently.

"No?"

Sam turned toward the wall, unconsciously adopting his pose from all those weeks at the hospital, and shook his head again.

"Um…okay…wanna tell me why not?"

Sam opened his mouth, licked his lips, and his voice came out raspy and cracked. "Go away." He paused, and then looked back at her and repeated it. "Go away. Please."

Instead of looking offended, Amy's face softened even further, and she said, "Okay. I'm sorry."

And then her face disappeared, and so did Brad's, and their footsteps faded into the distance.

And Sam curled up against the wall and cried.

XXX

Sam ventured out from behind the trash cans four times that day, and every time he made it a little further before he darted back to his hiding place. But he never did make it to the end of the alleyway, and as night fell he returned there and sat down, gazing up at where he was pretty sure the stars should be, but he remembered distantly that city lights blocked them out.

He was also faintly aware that he was…hungry. The time when he usually got his chicken-pudding had come and gone, he thought, and he still had no way to get any food. He was still too afraid to find a way, to get money, to have a change of _clothes._

He was in the middle of thinking this—and, admittedly, feeling sorry for himself—when he heard footsteps again. More people in his alley, and Sam hid his face in his hands in the hopes that the principle of _If you can't see them, they can't see you_ might apply here.

But the person—whoever it was—didn't even pass the trash cans. They came close, but then they stopped, and there was the shuffling sound of something being set down. Then the person started walking again, going back the way they'd come and fading until they were completely gone.

Sam waited for another minute before slowly peeking around the side of the trash can. It took him a long time to make sense of what he was seeing—it had been way too long since he'd seen take-out bags.

He crawled toward them slowly, half-expecting them to blow up or something impressive like that. But he reached them without anything going amiss and took them back to his hiding place to open them.

His mouth began to water the moment he opened the white boxes and found a cheeseburger, French fries, and soda in a Styrofoam cup. It was familiar food, food like home, and Sam, hungry as he was, dug in without even noticing that he was crying.

XXX

The take-out didn't stop coming with the burger and fries. The next day there were pancakes for breakfast and a chicken sandwich with a salad for lunch, and the only thing Sam determined was that he was going to figure out who was leaving it at dinner.

So he waited. Patiently. He waited and remembered Dean—_but good things, not Dean being tortured, not Dean in hell, not Dean being tortured in hell—_and felt glad he hadn't had any more visions so far and waited some more, and when the footsteps finally came he gathered up all his courage and looked around the side of the bins again.

It wasn't Dean.

He hadn't realized how much, how irrationally, how _desperately_, he'd been hoping it would be, no matter how his mind told him it wasn't possible.

But it didn't matter, because it wasn't Dean.

"You're not Dean."

Amy looked up from the bags she'd been carefully arranging, seeming surprised to see him, though it didn't show in her voice. "Uh…no. I'm…not Dean. You remember me? From yesterday?"

Sam cocked his head to the side a little and stared into her hazel eyes—_so much like Dean's, and why was everything reminding him of Dean even more than usual?_—and she smiled.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure you do. I'm also pretty sure you've been eating the food I've been leaving, so I guess you're not pick. Here I have a BLT, no mayo, and a baked potato with butter and sour cream, and a Coke to drink. I didn't mean to disturb you—I was trying to sneak out all quiet-like, but I guess you have pretty good ears on you…" She trailed off and shook her head. "I'm sorry, I'm babbling. I'll just…go. Enjoy your dinner."

She was standing up to leave, and Sam was watching her go and thinking of Dean and the words were rushing out before he could stop them, piling all over each other in their hurry.

"Do you have a phone I can borrow?"


	11. LGA:We Carry On

Sam swallowed hard as the second ring echoed in his mind, his gut twisting with anxiety and his palms beginning to dampen with sweat. He heard a click and a soft shuffling, a rough voice, gruff and worn with age, spoke sternly.

"Hello?"

Sam sucked in, every emotion coursing through his mind as Bobby Singer's voice rang in his ears. He stood for a moment, unsure what to say.

"Hello?" The voice repeated, more annoyed this time.

Sam gulped and took a breath, desperately trying to find words.

"…Bobby?" The voice was a whisper, Sam felt hot tears prick his eyes and his throat tighten.

There was a pause, a quietness that made Sam think Bobby may have hung up, been then the soft sound of a deep breath made him know his old friend was still there.

"Sam? That you son?" Bobby asked quietly, almost afraid he may loose Sam if he spoke to loud.

"Yeah…I…I need your help, Bobby. Please." Sam finally managed, the image of Dean flashing for an instant, aiding him in pulling the words together.

"Where you at Sam?" Bobby spoke softly again.

Sam thought, a quick flash of the sign he had seen coming in showing in his mind.

"Montville." Sam said simply, not knowing the state or what else to say.

"I'll be there as soon as I can Sam, you just sit tight, alright?" Bobby asked, Sam already hearing a shuffling in the background as he seemed to grabbing things.

"Okay." Sam said, unsure of what else to do.

He slowly closed the phone, staring at it as his mind rolled over the thoughts on what to do next. He had no idea where the courage to call Bobby had come from, or they strength to finally ask for help, but he silently thanked God for it.

"Get a hold of your friend?" The friendly voice made him jump in surprise, he had forgotten Amy was standing there.

He handed her the phone, only chancing a look into her eyes befor returning his gaze back to the ground. Nodding he bit his lip nervously, unsure of how to thank the kind girl for all her help.

"My parents own the diner just around the corner, you want to come wait for your friend there?" Amy asked with eyebrows furrowed in concerned.

It had been a long time since Sam had interacted with anyone so kind, and he truly didn't know how to react beside staring at the ground and shrugging. The truth was, he'd love to come to the diner, get some food and try and once again become normal.

"You look like your hungry, and I dunno if you want it, but my dad's about your height, he wouldn't mind sparing a few clothes." She looked at him with warm, welcoming eyes that he could no longer refuse.

He looked at her with hurt eyes, tears brimming the lids as he choked out two words.

"Thank you."

With a nod and warm smile, she led him out of the ally and into the light of a new world

xXx

Sam had never tasted anything so delicious in his life. Ketchup smeared his now clean face, grease dripping off his chin as Amy watched him with a wide grin.

"Glad ya like the burger, they're my favorite too." She laughed lightly, picking at her own fries.

Sam nodded slightly, unsure of how to really react once again. Amy had kindly led him to the apartment above the restaurant, it wasn't used by anyone but was in tip top shape and at the ready for any guests.

She had given him clothes that a tad to big, but clean and soft and smelled of detergent with lilac fabric softener. He had followed her around like a zombie, not saying a word or making eye contact, just nodding and watching with eyes shadowed by long bangs.

He couldn't remember the last time he had taken a real shower, but once the hot water his flesh and streamed down in warm drops he wondered why he had ever refused. He lavished in the comfort of the water and its relaxing persuasive ways for a half hour, bubbles that smelled of spring cleaned away the sweat, dirt and blood. He closed his eyes and let the liquid run over tired eyes, softening the muscles tightened by stress and anxiety. Once the bubbles swirled down the drain and he was clean for the first time in months, Sam stepped out and dried himself off with a equally wonderful fluffy, soft white towel.

Clean and dry he pulled on the clothes, new boxers straight from the package, almost new jeans that sagged on his thin waist and a shirt that hung on a frail frame. He glanced around the tiny bathroom, the white slightly reminding him of the hospital, but the mood relaxing him with its hominess. He caught sight of the foggy mirror, the realization that he hadn't seen himself in moths making him take a step forward in curiosity.

He raised a hand toward it, scared to wipe away the fog that covered it and reveal what he looked like to the world. Eyes flashing once more around the room out of habit he quickly swiped it clean, shocked to see such sunken dark eyes staring back, a haggard and round face surrounding those, all with much to long hair falling around his face and to his shoulders.

He looked away, ashamed of what he had become and imagining what Dean would think of this. He brushed away the thoughts though and grabbed the new tooth brush Amy had gotten him, squeezing the strong smelling toothpaste on it he got to work on his teeth.

"You want anything else?" Amy's voice brought Sam back from his thoughts, nearly making him jump.

"No…thank you." He said softly, his eyes only glancing up quickly before returning to the nearly empty plate.

She nodded and got up, saying she'd be right back as she headed over to her brother who had just walked in. Sam watched them beneath his bangs, feeling a smile tug at his lips as they argued in the same manner Dean and him had always done.

He faintly heard the rumble of an engine, one so familiar he couldn't ever forget it. The image of a shining black beast of a car flashed in his mind, the Impala in it's prime as it roared down the highway with Dean and Sam tucked inside.

Sam's eyes went wide and he turned his glance to the window, seeing the car he had thought of only moments ago, crawling down the main street. His heart leapt with joy, because everything that was that car, represented Dean, and maybe, just maybe, since the car was alive so was Dean.

He'd pull up in the evening light, the sun setting behind him as he got out with a cocky grin and popped his collar, he'd come up to the diner and order some apple pie, wave to Sam and say he was sorry for being gone so long. He and Sam would have a laugh, would get back to business and they'd carry on like nothing happened, get back in that old car and eat up the miles, happy to just be side by side once again.

The dream shattered though as an older man got out of the car, only his silhouette visible in the twilight that settled around the small town. He was shorter then Dean, a gruff beard visible and a baseball cap fit on tight with longer hair peeking ou from beneath it. He started toward the diner, a slight gimp as he went until he came to the door and opened it, the light hit him and Sam straightened in realization and fear, his eyes widening and nostrils flaring. A long scar ran up Bobby's arm and a crescent moon shape decorated his cheek, he looked up and his eyes met Sam's, pain and relief both shining on them as he started toward him.

They paused and looked at one another, Sam's glance quickly tearing away, a heavy hand fell on his shoulder and Sam could feel the tears welling as it did.

"Good to see ya again, son."


	12. AC:All These Things That I've Done

There was so much about Bobby that was different. He walked in a way he never had before, limping along like a much older version of himself. And…his fingers. There were still three less of them. He still wasn't saying what had happened to them—and Sam did ask, and even felt interested in the answer.

And it was weird how neither of them knew how to act around the other. As long as Sam could remember, their relationship had been an easy one—Sam would drool over Bobby's books and Bobby would roll his eyes and say something gruff, and then Bobby would help him and Dean kill something. But now…

Well, now everything was different, and Sam had probably been stupid to think that his and Bobby's relationship would remained untouched by past events when nothing else had. It hadn't, and the two of them treaded lightly around each other, as if they were walking on glass and eggshells.

Bobby did take care of things, though, which had been all that Sam was really hoping for when he'd made the call. The older man got him out of the diner and both of them checked into a motel room and used the money that he actually had and made it so Sam could sleep in a comfortable bed without restraints for the first time in a long time.

But they didn't talk. Not really. Not beyond the most perfunctory, simplified speech. Neither of them really knew what to say.

At least—not that first night.

Not until Sam dreamed.

XXX

_You were supposed to let them take the body away._

_When people died, you let them take the body away._

_You waited and tried not to disturb things and then people came and took the body away._

_That was how it worked._

_But not this time._

_This time, no one was going to take the body away._

_Sam wouldn't allow it._

"_Sam…"_

_Bobby's voice was wrong, somehow—he sounded hurt, choked._

_Sam didn't really care._

_He didn't care if Bobby was wrong or if Bobby was hurt or if Bobby was dead._

_He didn't care if _he_ was wrong or hurt or dead, either._

"_Sam, please. You…you have to let go, okay?"_

_Sam shook his head and buried his face deeper into Dean's shoulder. _

_He'd wake up anytime now, he knew._

_He'd wake up and it'd be Wednesday and the Trickster would tell him ha ha, he hadn't really reset anything after all and the hellhounds hadn't come and it was all a dream, just a dream…_

"_It's time, Sam. He's…he's gone."_

_And then hands reached out, tugged Dean from his grasp, and Sam was _done.

XXX

"I hurt you, didn't I?"

Bobby was too good to jump, but Sam could tell he was surprised when he turned around, coffee in hand. "Didn't know you were up, kid. It's the middle of the night."

"It's true, isn't it?" Sam asked, ignoring the comment. "I hurt you."

Bobby set his cup down on the table and said slowly, "You been dreaming, Sam?"

"I saw it," Sam explained, voice too calm even to his own ears. "You tried to get me away and I…I hurt you real bad."

"Sam—"

"Don't tell me I didn't," Sam said. "I threw stuff at you and hit you and…and now you're scarred and your fingers are gone. I did that."

Bobby sighed. "Yeah, you did."

"And then you had me locked up so I wouldn't hurt anyone else."

"Or yourself," Bobby said quietly, as if each word pained him. "I didn't know what you were capable of. Sam, I'm sorry. I didn't want—"

Sam shook his head. "I know. I never blamed you."

"Maybe you should have."

"Or you should blame me. Look at what I did, Bobby. I could've killed you."

"You wouldn't have," Bobby said.

"You don't know that!" Sam said, feeling a spark of anger in his belly. "_I_ don't know that! I don't know if I'm dangerous to me or to you or to anyone. I don't know _anything_, except—I'm angry. I'm angry all the time and I just…I don't want to be angry anymore." His voice quieted, became a small, weak thing. "I just want Dean."

The heavy tread of footsteps reached his ears, and then a hand landed on his shoulder and squeezed. Bobby's voice was gruff and choked.

"I know, boy. I know."

XXX

_He saw hell again, and it was pretty much the same as last time. Big, scary, black, evil. Jus the same—except for one thing._

_Dean._

_He was screaming this time. Screaming, crying, shouting and the words were all the same._

"SAAAAAM!"

_Sam wasn't sure if this was now or then or sometime in the future or if time had any meaning at all down there, but it didn't matter. The point was, Dean had changed. He had been tired before—he was scared now. Terrified and screaming Sam's name._

_And the anger broke over Sam again._

_Only it wasn't the hot anger that had been boiling in him, unnoticed, for months now. It was a cold stone inside him, bringing clarity and knowledge._

_Before him, Sam saw the world._

XXX

"Sam! _Sam!"_

Sam snapped awake and away from the shaking hands, and Bobby backed off instantly.

"Jeez, Sam," the older man said tiredly. "We're never gonna get any sleep, are we?"

Sam sat up slowly, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "No," he said softly. "No, we're not. Not tonight." Then he looked up at Bobby and said, "We're gonna get Dean back instead."


	13. LGA:The Sound of Pulling Heaven Down

Settling back into research was easier then Sam remembered. Months in the hospital may have dulled him a bit, but as the scent of the old books hit his nose and the laptop flashed before his eyes, he felt it all coming back.

Keys tapped loudly and quickly in the shadowed corned of the motel room, Sam sat at a small desk, the darkness surrounding him except for the light the illuminated from the computer screen.

It was early morning in the small town, the sun was rising outside, its early morning rays unable to penetrate through the thick fabric that were the motels curtains. The air was warm and stuffy, almost feeling good to Sam after all those months in the overly air conditioned hospital, it reminded him of the past, of all the other very similar motels he had once stayed in. But mostly, it reminded him of Dean.

Bobby and him had spent the rest of the night researching, trying to figure out if there was any possible way to retrieve a soul from hell, so far they had found nothing.

Sam sighed heavily and ran frail hands over his haggard face, taking notice to the new facial hair that ran rampant on his chin and cheeks. His stubble was thicker and longer then he could ever remember, an out of place beard beginning to hide his features.

He ran a hand through his hair, letting the long bangs fall and hide his eyes, his hair falling nearly to his shoulders in thick waves.

His eyes were sunken in, dark circles and bags beneath them giving him the appearance of a much older man. His skin was taunt, pale and discolored in many spot as it clung for life to his thin frame. His ribs and hip bones protruded in an unsightly manner, angles jutting from beneath his thin shirt, revealing the months of starvation and malnourishment.

The door opened, warm rays of orange sunlight quickly dashing into the darkness, seemingly trying to brighten Sam's mood, but faltering as the door creaked shut once again. Bobby stepped in, gimp more prominent in the early morning, the pain and stiffness seeming to get the best of him.

He sat down, his breathing more heavy then it should have been, sending a jolt of guilt through Sam's mind, making him visibly wince and pull himself in.

Bobby sent him a glance, pain and worry shining on his eyes as he studied the younger hunter. The sight made Bobby's heart sink in his chest, every memory he had with the boy shredded to pieces as he looked at what used to be one of the greatest hunters he'd ever known. Months in that…that place had made him age well beyond his years, the mental torture he put himself through physically taking a terrible toll on his body. It made Bobby clench his jaw with regret, wish he'd never sent Sammy Winchester to such a horrible place…all because he was scared.

He shook away the thoughts, his mind trying to make sense of the jumble of emotions and return to his original task at hand. The Impala was loaded and ready to go, if they planned on saving Dean they needed to return to his house where all his books were. The drive was only an hour or so, but still, Bobby dreaded the tension that lay ahead for the trip home.

"You ready to head out?" Bobby asked, his voice rough and emotionless, hiding what he really felt.

Sam's head snapped up, his thoughts shattering as the rough voice cut through the stuffy air. He had been thinking about Dean, old habits dying hard as he stared past the computer screen into his childhood, back to the first day Dean and him had hunted together. But he shook that away now, Dean wouldn't be saved with memories.

Bobby sat looking at him with patience, waiting for Sam to gather his few things, the younger hunter was distant as he moved about the room, motions uneasy and almost undetermined. It had been so long since normality had been in Sam's life, that the attempt to go back to it seemed far out of reach, almost impossible.

Things gathered and the mornings light at full peek they left the room, Sam trailing behind Bobby, almost afraid to leave the older mans side. He bit his lip nervously as he realized what was coming, last night they had walked to the motel next door, he hadn't gotten in the Impala. Last time he'd been in the Impala Dean had been by his side…

The glistening black car rose in the distance, seeming to grow larger as they neared it more and more. Sam felt his heart quicken, his palms beginning to sweat as memories flashed in his mind, everything that had been his life sat in front of him…just waiting for him.

Bobby pulled open the door, the familiar creak greeting his ears after months of dullness, he felt hot tears prick his eyes, the little bit of sanity he had gained back threatening to be washed away as he ran away from the car. Yet, he so deeply just wanted to get in and relish in its familiar scent, sit and let the rock music roll.

He swallowed hard and got in, Bobby closing the door and taking the drivers seat. It felt wrong, Sam's gut twitched in displeasure, but he knew there was no other way, he turned his attention to the window and tried not to think about it. It was impossible though, it was unattainable to think of anyone but Dean to be sitting there. It just made Sam sick with emotion.

Sam watched the scenery go by, letting his eyes grow heavy as green trees and lush fields blurred by. The hum of the motor was like a lullaby, beckoning him to sleep as the Impala ate up the miles until at last his eyes closed and sleep came.

The little girl grinned, her white eyes chilling Sam to the bone. In her hands she held a glowing light, it twisted and twirled, almost as if it were struggling against the force that held it, angry to be contained.

"Silly goose, I never share my toys." Her voice, tainted with evil, echoed in Sam's mind for what seemed like forever.

Then Sam looked in the swirling light, and in it he saw Dean chained for all eternity in the hands of Lilith.

Sam snapped awake, gasping for air as he shot up in the passenger seat. His head whipped around, meeting Bobby's shocked eyes.

"I know how we can save him…I know how we can save Dean.


	14. AC:How do you like my darkness now

**No apology can say how sorry I am for not updating this in months. I thought I left off with this amazing chapter, but it turns out I did not! And for that I am really sorry, especially to the wonderful AC! Hope you enjoy all the same!**

xXx

_AC's note: I shamelessly stole a couple of lines from Buffy in this chapter, but I claim no ownership._

When Sam finished outlining the basics of it, Bobby pulled the car over on the side of the deserted road and turned off the engine. They sat for a long time without saying a word, and then Bobby said, "Sam, do you have any idea what you're proposing here?"

"I think so…" Sam said slowly. "Don't you think it would work?"

"Yeah, I think it _might._ But I also think it's insane, crazy, and _impossible._"

"Nothing's impossible," Sam said, his face already setting into a determined mask.

"I'm telling you right now, that's not true. You want to kill _Lilith, _Sam. _Lilith_, the most powerful demon in Hell. You want to summon her and stick a knife in her. It _can't be done,_ Sam."

"Yes, it can. I don't know how, but it can."

"Sam—"

"He was terrified," Sam said suddenly, quietly, his eyes trained on the dashboard. "In my dream. I saw Dean, and he was terrified. He thinks I'm dead. He was hurt, bleeding—there was so much blood, but he just kept screaming. For me. I've never seen him like that before. He's usually so strong, but that place…" He lifted his head and met Bobby's eyes, and his were a hardness Bobby had never seen before. "I'm not leaving him there, Bobby."

Bobby looked at him for a long time, then sighed heavily and said, "Look, even if it was possible to kill her, we still don't know how to even get her here."

Sam was about to answer when he froze, his eyes locked on the road straight ahead. Then he did something so completely unexpected that Bobby, for a moment, couldn't comprehend it.

He smiled.

"I think we're gonna have some help with that."

XXX

Ruby looked much more like her former self when she came strolling up to the car as if she took incredibly long walks on deserted country roads every day. She was back to being an extraordinarily pretty blonde with striking features and a strong taste for leather and, in fact, Sam thought for a moment that she'd repossessed the girl she'd been in the first time they met. But it wasn't the same girl—not quite the same.

Still, he recognized her immediately, and when she reached the car he stepped out of it and gestured silently for her to get in. Then he folded himself back in, closed the door, and said, "Let's go, Bobby."

Bobby seemed tempted to ask, but instead he just shook his head and muttered, "Oh, yeah, I can't see anything going wrong here…" before starting up the engine and pulling back onto the road.

XXX

When Sam finished explaining it, Ruby thought about it and then calmly pronounced him insane.

"And I mean _more_ insane than you were in the padded room. I didn't think it was impossible, but you've proven me wrong, like always," she said, pushing herself up off the couch and beginning to pace Bobby's small living room.

Sam watched her progress with uninterested eyes. "That's okay. I don't mind being crazy if it helps me save Dean."

"You mean if it helps you _resurrect_ Dean," Ruby said. "He _is_ dead, Sam. I think we should probably get that out in the open right now. He's dead and cold in the ground, kid."

Sam's hands clenched into fists, his jaw clenched as if he wanted very much to stand up and knock Ruby flat. But after a moment, he slowly let his hands fall open again and asked quietly, "Are you going to help us or not?"

"Oh, I'm gonna help you, because I care," Ruby said, and it was hard to tell exactly how sarcastic she was being. "I'm just telling you upfront that you're setting yourself up for a serious fall here."

"You're not going to keep me from doing this, no matter how much you warn me," Sam informed her. "He already tried," he added, gesturing to Bobby.

"I know," Ruby said. "That's one of the things that makes you weird." She didn't give Sam a chance to reply to that before she turned to Bobby and said, "Grab me a book with a summoning ritual in it, will ya?"

"A summoning ritual? That'll work?" Bobby asked incredulously.

"No," Ruby said, already examining the volumes lining one of Bobby's bookshelves.

Bobby stared at her back for a moment, opened his mouth, closed it, and after a moment he shook his head and shuffled into one of the other rooms.

Ruby didn't say a word to Sam while he was gone. She didn't even turn away from the shelves until Bobby came back in, carrying a thick tome in both hands which he handed reluctantly over when she reached for it.

"Thanks," Ruby said absently, settling herself at the table and opening it. "Let's see, general summon, general summon…ha. Index—not just for decoration." She flipped through the book until she found the page, then leaned closer to it and started to read in earnest.

After several minutes of shifting impatiently in his seat, Sam asked, "So? Can we do it?"

"Shut up," Ruby said flatly without looking up.

Bobby growled low in his throat, but Sam silenced him with a look and sat back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest.

The next ten minutes dragged by before Ruby looked up and said, "Got any paper around here?"

Once she had that and a pen, she started writing. Bobby and Sam had no idea what—any inquiry they made was immediately met with the only two words Ruby seemed able to speak aloud—a flat "Shut up."

Over the next hour, Bobby did everything he could to help pass the time, to keep Sam distracted. It didn't work, but it was a nice effort.

And finally—_finally_—Ruby put her pen down, closed the book, looked up at Sam, and said evenly, "This might be possible."

XXX

Bobby finished reading the new ritual that Ruby had written, and then he looked up and said gruffly, "I don't get it."

"What's not to get? You go to a crossroads, perform that, she'll come. All you have to do is follow the directions. You _can_ follow directions, right?"

Bobby glared at her. "Now you look here. I know you're helping us and I know you're a demon and you could kill me in a snap, but if you take that tone with me one more time I'm not gonna hesitate to exorcise you."

Ruby looked him straight in the eye and said, voice layered with varying levels of sarcasm and admiration, "Yes, sir."

Bobby seemed willing to take that at face value rather than delve more deeply into her attitude. "Right, then. So explain this to me. If Lilith can ignore any normal summoning ritual, why would she respond to this one just 'cause you changed a few words around?"

"Hey," Ruby protested. "I worked _hard_ on that!"

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean it'll work."

"I never promised it would work." When Bobby only raised an eyebrow in reply to that, Ruby sighed and crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Look, here's how it is. You know about the Crossroads Demon. Obviously. I mean, you know she existed. But did you ever wonder why she _always_ answered summons?"

Bobby shrugged. "Guess it's just 'cause she liked to make deals."

"Well, yeah, there's that, but she never _didn't_ come. Ever. Not if you summoned her at the crossroads. Ever wonder why?"

"Guess not, but I'm sure you'll tell us."

"Yeah, I will. I'm cool like that. It's because of the power of the crossroads. It drew her and it was impossible for her to resist. But that power was hers alone—she was the only one drawn in by it and she was the only one who could use it."

She paused there and looked at Sam, as if he should see the significance of this. When he only looked nonplussed, she rolled her eyes.

"God, I really do have to spell everything out for you guys, don't I? Fine, let's see if we can deduce. The Crossroads Demon was the only one with that power, right?"

"If you say so," Sam said.

"And what _happened_ to the Crossroads Demon a few months ago? Where did she _go?"_

"Uh…I dunno. Wherever demons go when they die…"

"_Exactly!"_ Ruby said emphatically. "She _died." _She paused and looked at Sam and Bobby again, and when they didn't answer she said, "_Seriously?_ You _still_ don't get it?"

"We'd get it a lot faster if you'd just tell us," Bobby said impatiently.

"No way, dude, this is the most fun I've had in weeks. So the Crossroad Demon is dead. And since she's dead, do you think she has the power anymore?"

"Um…no?"

"So who does?"

"No one?" Sam said, and Ruby laughed delightedly.

"_Yes!_ By Jove, I think he's got it. And that means the power is just floating out there in the universe. Which means we'll be able to tap into that power, limited time only. So if we perform a ritual that specifies the demon we want to summon, that demon will _have_ to come, period."

Bobby raised an eyebrow. "That's it?"

"Well, we could take a bow or something, but pretty much, yeah."

"It sounds pretty far-fetched."

"Yeah, it does."

"And this'll really work?"

"I didn't guarantee anything. I never sign contracts. But we can try it. How about it, Sam?"

Sam, though, was already standing up, straighter and taller and stronger than he'd been in weeks. He was turning to Bobby and focusing those new, hardened eyes on him.

"Bobby, I'll need the knife."

XXX

Sam probably should have felt more when it worked. He should have felt triumphant, nervous, excited—one or all of them, but _something._

But even what meager emotions he had experienced in the hospital and since his escape were gone, burned away as if they had never been, burned away like Dean never _would_ be after tonight.

He was about to bring his brother back from the dead, and he felt nothing at all.

He felt nothing as he traced the sigils in the ground.

He felt nothing as he performed the ritual.

He felt nothing when Lilith appeared in front of him, spitting mad and hiding it beneath a smile pasted on an eight-year-old face.

Her first words to him were intentionally mundane.

"You didn't bring backup?"

Sam didn't step forward, but he didn't step back as his instincts told him to, either. "No," he said without taking his eyes off of her. "This is my thing." Not that there hadn't been any argument over that fact—there had. But to Sam, the fact that he was going to do this alone had never been in question.

"Huh. Well, aren't you reckless? Must be the lack of a father figure…"

"We're not here to talk about him."

"Well, what _are_ we here to talk about, then?"

Sam did step forward then, shifting his hold on the dagger that was his only weapon. "Dean." He lifted the dagger and pointed it at her. "You're going to let him go tonight, one way or another."

Her laugh was creepy in its childishness. "So that's what you came here for. I'm really not surprised. It _is_ nice that you came all this way to let me kill you—it cuts down my search."

Sam shifted his stance a little and said, "I didn't come here to talk."

"But see, I _want_ to talk," Lilith said. "I've been waiting to have a real heart-to-heart with you for a long time."

As she said it, Sam remembered another of Dean's old tricks—to keep 'em talking, and to let them pick the subject so that it would hold more interest for them. It looked like Lilith was going to do most of the work for him in that instance.

"I want to talk about _you_, Sam," Lilith said. "All evidence to the contrary, you're a pretty interesting guy. A psychic wonder-boy whose powers are completely unreliable, and yet you're probably one of the most dangerous humans in the world." She paused, and then said thoughtfully, "There's that word again. Human. It's funny that very few would hesitate to put you in that category. I mean, you're not _really,_ are you?"

And no matter how determined Sam was to ignore everything Lilith said, he couldn't ignore that.

"You're lying."

"Oh, I'm really not," Lilith said happily. "That's the fun of it. I'm telling the truth, and you _know_ I am." She took a step toward him, completely ignoring the knife in his hand—or appearing to, anyway, and it was then that Sam realized he couldn't move. Whether it was demon-mojo or shock didn't really matter. He was still trapped where he was.

He had still missed his chance to get Dean back.

"You can feel it, can't you? You've always been able to feel it. You even told Dean once, but you were possessed at the time, so he didn't think it was true. But you've felt it—felt the anger, the hate, the violence. You've felt the part of you that's lacking in humanity, and sometimes you've wanted to embrace it. Isn't that right?"

Sam shook his head desperately.

"Well, of course you're still denying it. You're still human enough for that. But it won't last. Don't make the mistake of thinking it will. There's darkness in you, Sam, and it won't be long before it takes over." She smiled suddenly. "But if you think about it, it could be worse. Sure, supposed to be the big bad evil, but at least Dean's not here to see any of it happen, right? So when you think about it, shouldn't you be _thanking_ me?"

And just like that, Sam's mind went from a babbling mess to cold clarity.

"You want me to thank you for sending my brother to Hell."

"Hey, he got _himself_ sent there. I just gave him a ride. It was really very big of me. And what's with the attitude, anyway? You should really show more respect…"

Sam didn't mind her words anymore—he was experiencing that same clarity of vision that had allowed him to finally decide to save Dean. So he waited for a break in the chatter, and then said calmly, "Lilith, shut your mouth."

She was so surprised that she did—for two seconds.

"You really aren't big on self-preservation, are you?"

"Not anymore, no. What I am is sick of listening to your endless chatter."

"Boy, you are _pushing_ it. I could kill you where you stand."

She seemed honestly taken aback when Sam laughed.

"You're not the _brightest_ devil in Hell, are you?"

He took a step to the side, no longer surprised to find that breaking Lilith's hold was as easy as breathing.

"You want to talk about darkness? We can go on about it all day long, if you want. But in the end, it all comes down to the same thing. You want to kill me more than you want just about anything—and I've finally figured out what that means."

He raised his knife again, and went on.

"What it _means,_ Lilith, is that I can hurt you."

"Enough of this," Lilith spat, and raised her hand to kill him.

Nothing happened, except that Sam lifted his blade to eye level and studied it nonchalantly.

"That didn't work last time, either, did it? I almost forgot…" He shrugged and looked back up at her. "So…I only have one question left for you."

He was in front of her before either of them could blink, grabbing her by the arm and driving the blade home.

"How do you like my darkness now?"

He waited until she was gone before he uttered the last word—Dean's favorite.

"Bitch."


	15. LGA:Requiem for a Shattered Soul

*Creaks door open, trying to be quiet, steps out and tries to explain*

So, you see…

*Gets booed angrily*

I suck. I know. But here, AT LAST is the final chapter! THANK YOU SO MUCH ADARA! You freaking rock! Thanks to everyone who read, reviewed, added to alerts and faved. It is greatly appreciated and I wish I could have gotten this to all you awesome people sooner! Enjoy!

xXx

His eyes snap open. Fear clutches at his heart, cold and panicked he doesn't know where he is. It's dark, he can't see a thing. He tries to move, but he can't. Four tight walls confine him, hard and moist, it stinks of earth. His heart pounds quickly, loud thuds the only sound that fill his ears beside the hyperventilating breaths he's taking.

He screams, his voice hoarse and rough, as if unused for months. He starts pounding on the wood above him, quick and hard punches fueled by adrenaline rushed blood. He feels the wood begin to splinter beneath his bloodying knuckled, he punches harder and more furiously, fear consuming him even more as cool dirt begins to crumble on top of him. He claws at the ceiling of his grave, praying that if there is a God that he will just let him get the hell out of here, if he died once he wasn't going to die again because he couldn't dig himself out of his own grave.

He scrambles with his legs, pushing himself up toward the top, crawling through the space he made, closing his eyes soft so the soft soil doesn't get in his eyes. Hands first, he continues to dig, thankful the dirt is loose and easy enough to push through. He pushes, struggles, digs until at last his hands feel blissful air instead of slick mud. His heart leaps in joy, hope sparks and he gives a final push with his legs and pull with his arms and his head surfaces. He gasps for sweet air, taking in gulps of oxygen as he finds himself above ground in the quiet night.

He pulls the rest of himself out, head to toe he is covered in sweat and mud, but not an injury is on him. He feels his chest and relaxes as his hands fall around his amulet, one familiar thing in a world of confusion.

He stands on shaky legs, observing his surroundings he finds himself in a cemetery, his own mothers gravestone next to his own. He inches closer, but stops himself. He quickly turns around and starts toward the cemetery gates, he has to find his baby brother.

Sam was out there… Dean just had to find him.

xXx

Sam sat in the dingy living room. Streams of sunlight coming through the old and yellowed curtain, dust floating easily through the air, dancing in the warm light that managed to creep into the dark room.

Long shaggy brown hair fell down to cover his hazel eyes, a distant look fell upon them as deep thoughts ran quickly through his mind. He had killed Lilith the previous night, but when they had sped to the grave site, it was empty.

Sam shook in fear, rage, worry, hate, all emotions seeming to swarm him at once like flies to the dead. Bobby was out checking hospitals, seeing if a man was brought in anywhere. Sam wanted desperately to help, but Bobby had told him to stay, that Dean might come looking for them… if he was out there.

Sam felt himself being pulled back into the old habits of the hospitals. Memories fringed on his mind, calling him with soft warmth. Tears brimmed his eyes as he felt himself desperately wanting to go there. But he refused. Dean might be alive, and they needed each other more then he would have ever thought.

Suddenly the room seemed to hot and stuffy, to tight and claustrophobic for Sam's comfort. He stood, the wooden chair scrapping the linoleum loudly as he did so. Thin hands grabbed his cell phone as he brushed out the door, he wanted to know if Bobby found his brother, but he could no longer sit here and do nothing.

Sam locked the faded white door behind and turned to follow the walkway down to a small dirt path that led to a park near the hotel. Sam sighed and began to relax and humanity faded away and he was only left with the beauty of nature. Leaves rustled easily in the soft breeze, the scent of flowers light on the wind and the sun glowed warmly in the afternoon, seeming to welcome Sam back into the world.

In the hospital he never really though of the outside, when he did it had made him hurt so bad. He had missed it, missed this, and having it back almost seemed unreal. He touched a leaf softly, eyes studying it with gentleness, fearing if he were to rough, it would all get sucked away and he would find himself right back in the padded room.

He walked on, head down as he stared at the dirt path and his own feet that lead him down it. His thoughts began to churn, old habits of rummaging through his head with bits of information suddenly easily returning from the depths in which the hospital had buried it.

The town in which the cemetery resided was not very large, Sam clutched desperately to that fact as he hoped and prayed that they would find Dean quickly. The grave had clearly been dug out from the inside, indicating Dean had indeed crawled his way out.

Bobby had planned on staying behind at Dean's grave, but when Ruby had to mysteriously bolt, he decided having Sam's back in the distance was the safer route, the grave was less then an hour away, they figured speeding there, Dean would be okay.

Sam mentally kicked himself, he should have begged Bobby to go there, stay with Dean. But the past could not be undone. He just hoped Dean was okay.

A soft cough pulled Sam from his thoughts. He looked up, but saw no one. It had sounded close, faded, but near by. Brows scrunched in confusion, he quickened his pace to round the corner of the dirt path, large trees impairing his view of what lat beyond that. A person appeared to be huddled next to a large oak on his left, he could barely make out what they looked like, but his heart leapt in joy at the thought of it possibly being Dean. He stopped himself suddenly, afraid that if it was not Dean, getting his hopes dashed would hurt him more then ever.

He took a deep breath, straighten his shoulders and held his head a little higher. He faced the fact that it was probably not Dean, just a homeless man, and that he should just go and offer whoever it was some help.

Sam began a strong walk, and as he did the body quivered and scooted closer to the tree, fearful apparently of being seen, but not having the energy to move completely out of the way.

Sam nervously rounded in front of the person and looked down to see his face… and his world came crashing down.

It was Dean.

"… D-Dean?" Sam barely whispered, eyes beginning to shine with emotion.

The shaking head looked up, bright green eyes sparkling in the afternoon sun from behind a grimy and bloodied face.

"… Sammy?" His voice was hoarse and barely audible, but it was Dean.

The two brothers held each others eyes, neither sure that this was not some twisted dream they were experiencing while they were in their own personal hell, or real hell.

Emotions suddenly slammed them both and Sam reached down, pulling Dean up into a tight hug, not a word spoken.

Every moment spent in the hospital suddenly fell away. Every memory, hallucination or thought from that terrible time faded away as Dean's arms wrapped tightly around him, his scent from underneath the earthy cover bringing Sam well needed comfort.

The memories of months in Hell found themselves being pushed further away from Dean as he clutched desperately to his little brother, unable to comprehend how this could have happened. But he did not question it, they were both alive and well, but best of all, they were together.

xXx

After a few days of eating, sleeping and just taking in the fact that they were both okay, the brothers found themselves settling back into their old routines, Sam still found it kind of unbelievable on how either could do that after the ordeals they had gone through. They only spoke of their experiences once, there was no point in going in depth, the past was behind them and they wanted nothing to do with it.

Sam made his bed as Dean finished packing the few last things, excited to drive his precious baby for the first time since he got back. It was time to hit the road, a short vacation was in need before the next hunt, so the boys were heading to California, the beach seeming to beckon them from across the land.

"Well Sammy, it's official." Dean said as he slammed the trunk down with a grin.

The evening sunset was behind him, an array of oranges, reds, purples, blues and greens outlining his leather coat with its popped collar and spiked hair. His grin seemed to brighten the evening and his eyes danced mischievously.

Sam smiled back, feeling warmth and comfort in himself for the first time in months.

"What's that Dean?" Both climbed in the car, Dean pasing as he roared it to life and trned the radio on to find Kansas, Wayward Son playing.

"Life… is good." He grinned and gunned it, pebbles and dust flying into the wind, making the boys laugh in pure joy.

A breeze ruffled Sam's newly cut hair and his hazel eyes sparked with life, he ran a finger over the Impalas interior and he looked over at his brother.

He couldn't agree more.


End file.
